


it's hurting that's the hardest part

by alwayswhenleastexpected



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst galore, M/M, Nightmares, References to Suicide, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:50:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwayswhenleastexpected/pseuds/alwayswhenleastexpected
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade had blamed an over-active imagination and a healthy humiliation kink for the odd dreams that began to plague him once he allowed himself to consciously accept the fact that he and Peter Parker (of all the people in this goddamned world, who would have guessed?) were, for lack of a better term, going steady—at least as steady as anyone could be in a relationship with Wade Wilson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's hurting that's the hardest part

**Author's Note:**

> My Spideypool Secret Santa Drabble for rexcarmino!
> 
> Happy angsting!
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS

Wade had blamed an over-active imagination and a healthy humiliation kink for the odd dreams that began to plague him once he allowed himself to consciously accept the fact that he and Peter Parker (of all the people in this goddamned world, who would have guessed?) were, for lack of a better term, going steady—at least as steady as anyone could be in a relationship with Wade Wilson. 

These dreams hadn’t bothered him at first; Wade had a hard time finding anything that involved a naked, harsh and dominating Spider-man distressing. Especially one that did such absolutely wonderful things to his body (not that real life Spidey was unsatisfying in any way, but maybe he could learn a thing or two from this one).

"You’re so vulnerable, so needy. So lonely…" Fingers that squeezed just right, teeth that left marks that didn’t fade— They left him waking up hard and aching, grinning at the real Peter who was exasperated and amused, but took care of him well. 

But as his days with Peter passed, the dreams began warping into something ugly— the Peter in his dreams, beautiful and terrible (but why the hell were his eyes fucking red?) began uttering words that surpassed kinky and crept into a territory that was just plain painful. 

Instead of being comfortably tied down , Wade struggled uncomfortably against a hard, damp floor. A foul-smelling gag rendered him incapable of sound or protest, and the pleasant burn in the pit of his stomach dissolved into dread.

Hands, no longer warm and soft, but cold and bruising, continued to run across his body, fingernails scraping down to his favorite spot on the back of his thigh. Wade’s breath hitched in spite of himself. “You’re so pathetic. You think you deserve my body?”

Okay, you know what, this isn’t so sexy anymore. Now what’s the fucking safe word. 

"God, it’s disgusting when you touch me. You’re disgusting." 

Then he remembered that he couldn’t talk anyway. 

Petey, please don’t, please let me go, please let me touch you, please let me—

"I can’t believe anyone would let you touch them."

He woke suddenly, gasping for air in Peter’s bedroom. The other man slept soundly next to him, oblivious to Wade’s panic. For a moment Wade considered waking him up to demand attention, comfort, anything to dispel the feeling of unwanted hands on his body. 

But the distorted, sneering version of Peter from his dreams lingered in his mind, and he shivered.

He left for three weeks after that night, coming back once he thought he could look Peter in the face again. Peter asked no questions, but he looked at Wade like he was trying to figure something out (Heh, don’t give yourself an aneurysm there, spiderminx).

But a month later dream-Peter’s face became more terrifying, his words too loud and much too real. Almost every night Wade was immobile, unable to speak, unable to scream, unable to beg Peter to stop saying these things to him—

"You’re a murderer. You don’t love me. You don’t deserve me. You’re going to ruin me."

Petey I do love you, I promise, I don’t want to hurt—

"You think a psycho like you can make me happy? 

Wade thrashed. I’m trying, he wanted to scream. I’m trying so damn hard. 

Peter was laughing at him now. “I’m gonna end up dead one day. And it’s going to be your fault. Everything’s going to be your fault.”

No—

"NO!"

He woke up, yelling. Peter was already sitting up, staring. “Wade, it’s okay.”

Wade couldn’t speak, he was looking at Peter—the real one, so sweet, so beautiful, who would never say those things (not ever to his face, not ever to hurt him, not like this). 

"You’re disgusting."

These words did not come from Peter’s mouth. But Wade heard them in his voice, and he choked.

"Peter?"

"God, I can’t believe you make me sleep in the same bed as you." 

"Wade, I’m right here, you’re safe—"

Why wasn’t it going away?

"You’re scum. I can’t believe you forced me into a relationship with you."

Wade covered his face (“I can’t stand looking at you”) and scrambled out of bed. He stumbled to the closet, hands automatically groping for a weapon (“Everything you do ends up as a disaster”).

"Wade, what are you doing? No, no, stop—"

“I don’t even know why you’re trying.” 

Peter lunged, but it was too late. His shout was cut off by the shot reverberating through the apartment, and he shuddered violently as blood splattered against his bare chest. Slowly, he sank to his knees next to Wade’s body and waited for him to wake up again.


End file.
